‘Don’t nudge me when you have no clothes on.’
I see a flash of something cross his face, maybe guilt, and he walks to the other side of the kitchen, giving me space.
‘Whoever lived here would’ve thrown big, lavish parties for big, lavish people,’ he says. ‘Their servants’ quarters had to be big enough for the servants to cook and prepare food for a lot of important people. You’re probably talking twenty or so people in here at once if there was a party going on, cooking, serving, bussing food up and down. Most of them probably lived here too. There’s a laundry room in there.’ He points to a door at the opposite end of the kitchen. ‘It’s full of tin baths and mangles and fun stuff like that, but thankfully someone’s installed a washing machine in more recent years. Off the main room, there’s a bathroom and a massive bedroom where the servants must’ve slept. This was probably the liveliest part of the house once.’
When he’s talking like this, I see a glimpse of a real person under the git persona. His accent is soft, his voice deep, and he sounds genuinely interested in what he’s saying. ‘You like this sort of thing then? Old houses and stuff?’
He looks at me and his mouth curves up. ‘Yeah. This place is fascinating. It’s a snapshot of times gone by. Houses aren’t built like this any more. They haven’t been for over a century, and even though it needs a lot of work, it’s still beautiful.’
I need to start appreciating the beauty in it. When I look around, I see problems more than beauty. I kind of like that he can look at this kitchen, with its exposed wooden beams, visible pipes and wiring that was probably hidden once and still think it’s beautiful. ‘It would be more beautiful if it had a window we could open.’
‘We’re below ground level of the house. There’s a back door on the opposite side.’ He points right through the main room towards the other side of the ground floor. ‘There’s steps going up to the garden but it’s so overgrown you can’t get out yet.’
‘Yet? You intend to cut that garden down?’
‘Of course.’
I shake my head. The house has got enough plant-life trouble with all the moss creeping in through the cracks in broken windows, but to tackle the garden seems like a truly impossible task. ‘Maybe you’ll put some clothes on before you do, otherwise those bramble bushes will have a lot of fun.’
He laughs again, and I shouldn’t be watching the way his chest flexes. He might be a git, but that is a good body, such a perfect curve to each muscle that it’s easy to imagine running my hand across them. My eyes wander too far down and I realise what I’m doing.
He’s smirking when I snap my head up. ‘You can look if you want, you know. It’s okay if you find me attractive.’
‘Oh, please.’ I snort a false laugh to prove how abhorrent the idea is, even though he’s gorgeous. ‘You wouldn’t be attractive if you were covered head to toe in chocolate and fifty-pound notes.’
‘An aardvark would be attractive if it was covered in chocolate and fifty-pound notes.’
The laugh I let out takes me by surprise, and I go back to unpacking my shopping, trying to hide a smile.
‘So you see I found the generator?’
For the first time, I realise the kitchen we’re in has a bare light bulb glowing from the middle of the ceiling. ‘Oh, yeah, I saw that ages ago.’
He raises an eyebrow. ‘And there was me thinking you’d been too busy gawping at my willy to notice.’
‘Not much point looking at that without a magnifying glass.’ I give him a smug grin of my own. ‘And that’s fantastic about the generator. Thanks.’
‘Not fantastic. There’s only enough juice in it to power one light bulb.’
‘One light bulb per room?’
‘No, one light bulb per château. It starts at the bottom and works upwards. This kitchen is the first on the circuit, so it’s the only room in the house with a light. And one plug socket. I’ve plugged the old fridge in to see if it’s working, but you’ll have to unplug it if you want to boil the kettle. Not that boiling the kettle for a cuppa will be much use to those of us who didn’t bring our own teabags, of course.’
‘That’s it?’
‘There’s a light in one of the bedrooms on the first floor too. I don’t know why it randomly works when no other room in the house has electricity, but it does. I’ll have another poke at the generator tomorrow and see if I can figure out the wiring.’
‘Don’t you think we should call a professional or something? You’re not an electrician, are you?’
‘No, but my father was. I know my way around a generator and old houses with outdated heating and plumbing systems.’
‘Speaking of the plumbing, last night I couldn’t find a tap that didn’t spurt brown goo at me.’
‘I’d hazard a guess that most things in your life would like to spurt brown goo at you.’
I narrow my eyes at him and it makes him laugh.
‘And no, the plumbing’s not up to much. I managed to blow through the tap in this sink.’ He points over his shoulder to the ginormous sink on the other side of the kitchen. ‘It runs clear but I wouldn’t drink it without boiling it first. Every other pipe in the place needs unblocking, and I haven’t found the water tank yet, but I wouldn’t mind betting that a menagerie of small animals have drowned in it over the years. I’ll get on that tomorrow.’
‘And you know what you’re doing with all this stuff? I thought you were a model.’
‘My father owned a business doing electricity and building work. He made me learn his trade to prove I was worth—’ He cuts the sentence off abruptly and my chest suddenly feels tight with a clamouring desperation to know more.
Julian shakes himself. ‘Like I said, I like old houses. I haven’t done work like this in years but it comes back when you’re up to your elbows in a drainpipe.’
He doesn’t seem like the type to do manual work. Everything about him is immaculate, from his carefully styled hair to his pristinely contoured dark stubble. The only thing I can imagine him being up to his elbows in is hair gel. But that mention of his father has intrigued me more than it probably should have, and I want to push him for details, but he’s chewing his lip and looking like he wants to run away.
‘So do you think Eulalie and her husband lived here with only one light bulb?’ I ask, instead of poking into something that’s none of my business. ‘She used to talk a lot about how grand the place was, it was all chandeliers dripping diamonds and wallpaper that cost thousands of francs. It was nothing like this.’
‘That was twenty years ago,’ he says with a shrug. ‘That generator’s spent the best part of two decades outside in a shed with only half a roof. Why don’t you try it and see if you still work as well after twenty years?’
I poke my tongue out at him. ‘We can’t live in a forty-room house with only one light bulb.’
‘You could always leave.’
‘So could you,’ I fire back.
‘Why should I? I just want a fair share of what’s rightly half mine. If you want to be petty and childish about it, fine. We’ll have half the rooms each. You stay in your half, I’ll stay in mine, but as the person who fixed the generator and unblocked the only unblockable toilet, I get dibs. So your half can be all the rooms without lighting, an electricity supply, running water, and any form of working plumbing. How’s that for petty and childish?’
‘You’re being ridiculous.’
‘Why? Because it doesn’t suit you? Because the only reasonable thing I could do in your eyes is leave? We have a fifty-fifty share of this place, and nothing you do or say is going to change that. Are you really sure I’m the one being ridiculous, Wend?’
‘Will you stop calling me that?’ I snap, mostly to distract myself from the little prickle of guilt that he might be right.
‘Why? Does it annoy you?’ His smirk is so big that he doesn’t need an answer.
‘No,’ I say as an idea pops into my head.
‘Not at all, Jules.’
He lets out a laugh. ‘If you think that’s the worst I’ve ever been called…’
‘I’d probably be arrested for repeating most of the words you’ve been called.’
I’m poking around in one of the living rooms on the first floor when I see Julian again. This time he’s wearing a pair of boxer shorts and he hovers in the doorway for a few moments before speaking.
‘I’m sorry about earlier,’ he says quietly. ‘I was trying to wind you up with the whole naked thing, but it was rude and offensive and a line I shouldn’t have crossed. I won’t walk around naked again.’
He bites his lip as he looks at me, and I mumble something incoherent, too taken aback by him apologising to come up with proper words. Even though the black shorts he’s wearing now are barely a step up from nakedness, I hadn’t guessed he was someone who’d apologise, let alone admit to being in the wrong. It makes me question every insult I’ve hurled at him today.
He goes to walk away but stops and turns back. ‘I’m not trying to take this place away from you, you know. My great-aunt wanted you to have it. That means something. I don’t want anything more than a fair share, a share I think she’d have left me if she’d known my side of the family.’
I try to snap out something sarcastic but I’m too surprised to think of anything. I didn’t expect the apology or the boxer shorts, and I definitely didn’t expect to feel myself softening towards him. No matter how much I’d like to, I can’t deny that he makes a good point. I know Eulalie would have left him a part of this estate. It’s just that it was hard enough to come here and leave my comfort zone behind, and I expected to be alone. Him turning up has done nothing to lower my anxiety levels over travelling and being in a new place and meeting new people, but maybe I am being a little bit unreasonable to take it out on him.
‘It’s getting late,’ he says while I’m still trying to think up a response. ‘It’ll be dark soon. I don’t suppose you brought a torch?’
‘No,’ I huff, reminding me that I need to charge my phone, and it’s too late to bother now. ‘I suppose you did.’
‘Actually, I brought a few. Here, catch.’ He throws a torch gently towards me and I catch it.
Why is he being so nice? Giving me a torch, coming up here and apologising… He must have an ulterior motive, the git. The kind-of-nice git.
‘There are candles in the downstairs kitchen, but the only box of matches is damp so they won’t strike. You should choose which bedroom you want to sleep in before the sun goes down and it gets too dark to see.’
‘Thanks.’ I look down at the torch in my hands, feeling quite touched by his concern.
‘Oh, I’m only saying it for the château. You’ve already destroyed one wall in the dark, God knows what you could do to the place in another night with no lights.’ He grins as he says it, sounding playful, and I realise I’m smiling without meaning to as he walks away.
‘You’re hilarious, McBeath,’ I call after him.
‘Not as hilarious as you nearly dying to rescue dead rat bones. I wouldn’t want it to happen again because I might keel over from the hilarity,’ he calls back.
‘That’d be a shame,’ I shout, still smiling.
I hate taking his advice, but he has a point. I’m exhausted after the bad night last night, the travel the day before, and just… everything. I immediately think of the bedroom I was in when Julian drew up. It didn’t seem to need much work, the windows opened and none of the glass was cracked, there were no holes in the plasterwork or ceiling, it had a good view of anyone coming up the drive, and it just happens to be the only other room in the house with a light.
It flickers when I switch it on, but even a flickering light bulb is better than every other bedroom. I drag the bedspread outside and shake it to within an inch of its life, then I hang it out of the window to air for a couple of hours before bed. After spending last night stuck in a wall, even an old and musty bed is an improvement. First thing in the morning, I’ll wash the bedding and hang it out to dry in the French sunshine, but a good shake and a quick airing will have to do for now. It’s not cold at night in August. I can just lie on top of it and catch up on the sleep I’ve missed lately.
It’s a good plan. Nothing can go wrong.
Chapter Eight
It’s dark and I’m trying to fall asleep while convincing myself I can’t feel creepy crawlies in my hair and that noise from the other side of the room is not an army of cockroaches waiting to attack me when I close my eyes.
I see a flash of torchlight under the door and think it’s just Julian going to bed, which is fine until the door to my room creaks open.
I sit bolt upright. ‘Julian?’
‘Aye, who were you expecting, the bogeyman?’
‘Rather him than you,’ I mutter. ‘It’s the middle of the sodding night, what are you doing in here?’
‘Going to bed.’
‘I’m sleeping in here, you’ll have to choose a different room.’
He turns the main light on and I squint in the flickering brightness. ‘Now why would I do a thing like that? This is the only bedroom in the house with a working light.’
‘Because… I’m… I was here first!’
‘Those rules expired when we left primary school. I don’t know about you, but that was a good few years ago for me. This is just as much my château as yours, I have the right to sleep in any room I choose.’
‘I’m already in this one!’
‘I know.’ He waves the torch around the room even though the light’s on. ‘But why should I get lumbered with a bedroom that doesn’t have a light? And, of course, it was too good an opportunity to resist. Apparently you’re going to try annoying me so much I want to leave too, and I was trying to be a gentleman and give you a head start, but as you don’t seem to be bothering…’
‘Oh, I will,’ I say.
‘Just as soon as you can come up with something?’ he asks, his voice dripping with self-satisfaction.
‘I could hide all the mirrors, I bet that’d really upset you.’
‘All that proves is that you don’t know me at all, and someone who doesn’t know me will never be able to come up with an insult that would hurt me. But good luck in trying, I predict it’s going to be fun.’
‘I predict it’s going to be painful. For you.’
He laughs.
‘You know what, I’ve known you for a grand total of about two days and I’ve already had enough. You want this room, you can have it. I’ll take my bedspread and sleep on a sofa.’
He holds the torch out towards the door. ‘Lead the way.’
‘You’re not…’
‘…Going to follow you if you go and sleep somewhere else? It’s a distinct possibility, but don’t worry, I’ll probably get bored around four or five in the morning and leave you to it.’
‘Argh!’ I wrap my hands in my hair and throw myself back down on the bed, watching him as he walks across the room. There’s something wrapped around him. ‘Is that… did you bring your own sleeping bag?’
‘Of course. You didn’t, I take it, which is why you’re now trying to sleep in a bed that looks like the best thing we could do for it is put it on a bonfire.’
‘Is there anything you didn’t bring with you?’
He shrugs. ‘I like to be prepared.’
‘Prepared-y McPreparedFace from Prepared Town wouldn’t have packed as much as you.’
‘We both know you’re only jealous because you didn’t think of it.’
‘Yeah, right,’ I mutter.
‘Budge up.’ He walks around the bed and lays his sleeping bag out next to me, and I watch as he sets his torch down on the bedside cabinet and wriggles into the bag, jostling and jumping so hard on the mattress that I have to grip the side to keep my balance.
‘Jules,’ I say through gritted teeth, trying to maintain the reasonable, rational side of me. ‘There are forty ro
oms in this house. Surely you can find one you like.’
‘Ah, but it’s nothing to do with the room, is it? It’s more about who I can annoy while I’m in it.’
‘So, let me get this straight, you think that the way to drive me out is to sleep in the same room as me?’
He looks over at me and grins. ‘Oh, I’m not planning on sleeping.’
I’m going to kill him. I am literally going to kill him. After he turns the light off and finishes wriggling around, he’s quiet for ten minutes. Ten minutes in which I start thinking it won’t be so bad after all. Sharing a bed with a man who smells as good as he does… his woody aftershave has even managed to overpower the musty smell of the bedding. Kat will keel over with jealousy when I tell her tomorrow. And the house is big and imposing, and even though I don’t like him, I feel just a little bit safer with him here. He wouldn’t even hurt a centipede, so he’s not going to be an axe murderer, is he? I’d never admit it out loud, but I think I’d have been a bit scared of sleeping here alone.
And then he starts ‘Lady Marmalade’.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Singing,’ he says, sounding annoyed that I’ve interrupted him.
‘That is not singing.’
‘I know. It’s uber-singing. Have you heard the acoustics in this place? They’re amazing.’
‘You sound like a hyena being castrated.’
‘Oh, thank you! I’m glad you’re enjoying it.’
‘I’m not…’ I give up trying to have a reasonable conversation with him. It’s impossible.
I stare at the ceiling in the darkness, trying to block him out as he starts on Lil Kim’s rap verse. ‘I don’t know whether to be more concerned about the fact you think that noise is singing or you know this song word for word.’
‘It’s a good song.’ He nudges me with his elbow. ‘Go on, join in.’
I barely have time to elbow him back before he’s launched into the chorus again.
‘No, I will not voulez vous coucher avec you!’ I snap. ‘Not this soir or any other soir! You can sod off.’
He laughs and then stops. ‘Oh, you’ve made me forget the lyrics now. Never mind, I’ll just have to start again.’
The Chateau of Happily-Ever-Afters Page 8